


Tasteful

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M, Series: The Nonsense Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair has a 'code'.  Jim zones on the cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tasteful

## Tasteful

by Mona Ramsey

* * *

"Tasteful"  
by MonaR.  
monaram@yahoo.com 

Jim took a quick look at his watch. He'd managed to make it to the loft by six, even though he'd made several stops after work. Police lights always come in handy, he thought - a slight tinge of guilt quickly shrugged off. 

He balanced the packages in his hands and shifted, seeking keys in his jacket pocket. He unlocked the door without dropping anything, gave a shove against the door with his shoulder - 

And met resistance. He shoved again. Same thing. The door was _not_ opening. 

A prickle of Sentinel-sparking fear shivered down his back, and he dropped his bags, reaching for his gun and preparing to shove against the door once again. He _knew_ that Blair was home, so a barricaded door meant that something was wrong. 

Taking a few deep breaths, he counted slowly and listened, trying to discern how many others there were inside. His hearing picked up one heartbeat, and then two - pushing past his own, that left only one. What the hell - ? 

He pounded on the door. "Sandburg! Are you okay?" 

A cough accompanied the gruff voice. "Go away, Jib." 

He shook his head and holstered his gun. "Blair, let me in," he said, picking up his packages again and thanking the miracles of plastic that nothing had come open in the fall. "Blair?" 

He heard a shuffling noise, and then a small 'thump' against the door. "I'b serious. Go away." 

"Blair, open the door," Jim said, trying to stifle a laugh. 

Finally, there was a noise of something being shoved away from the door, and it opened. 

Soulful, red-rimmed blue eyes stared up at him, a body wrapped pitifully in a comforter, sock feet poking through the bottom of the cocoon. "I _hade_ beig sick," Blair said, and shuffled back to the couch. 

"I know, Chief. Everyone hates being sick." 

"But I _dever_ ged sick!" Blair complained, and then coughed a couple of times, for emphasis. 

"Just because you're healthy and you eat well and you exercise, doesn't mean that you're completely impervious to viruses, Blair. It just means that you've got a better chance against them." Jim started unpacking his bags on the kitchen counter. "When they've got you, they've got you." 

"I guess," Blair humphed. "I still think you should sday at Sibon's. What id _you_ ged sick?" 

"I've been around you for three days without a symptom," Jim replied, knocking the wooden door of the cabinet for luck. "Besides, that's what sick days are for, Chief." 

"Shouldn't you sabe deb up for whed you get shod again?" 

"Funny. Remind me to say 'you told me so' when I _do_ get shot again." Jim went over to the couch with a box of lotiony tissues and handed it over to his Guide. "Here, blow." 

"I lub you, Jib." 

"I love you too, Blair," Jim chuckled. 

"Whad else did you get be?" Blair asked, before he blew his nose and coughed a couple times more. 

Jim lifted things out of the bags and gave a running commentary to his sick friend. "Magazines, analgesic, one of those 'get rid of all of your symptoms so you can sleep' all-purpose medicines, a teddy bear - " 

"Ooh, led be see de bear," Blair said, blowing again. 

"Catch." Jim tossed it over to the couch. 

It was cute, a little blue-eyed, dark-brown-haired teddy, and for some reason it reminded Jim of Blair when he saw it by the cash register at the pharmacy. /Probably the red nose,/ he thought to himself, then decided it would probably be better if he _didn't_ point out that resemblance to Blair \- not in his present condition, anyway. 

"Thags," Blair grinned. 

"You're welcome." 

"Whad else?" 

"You're awfully greedy, aren't you?" 

"I'b sick!" Cough, cough. 

"Right, right. Three boxes of tissues with lotion, another heating pad, some zinc lozenges, another bottle of vitamin C, and some cough syrup." 

"The che-wy kide?" 

"Chewy?" 

Blair looked at him in frustration. "No, not _chewy_ , che-wy." 

"Oh, _cherry_." Jim looked at the box. "Yes, it's cherry." 

"Good." He coughed a couple more times. 

Jim opened the box and got out a teaspoon. Walking over to the couch, he said, "Looks like it's just in time, too." He poured out a teaspoon and held it out to Blair, grinning. "Here comes the choo-choo." 

Blair glared at him, but opened his mouth, nevertheless, and Jim tipped the medicine into it. "Yug!" he said, after he'd swallowed. "Dose people hab a vewy sdradge idea ob whad 'che-wy' is _supposed_ to taste like." 

"One more, Blair," Jim said, holding out the spoon again. 

"Doh way!" 

"It says right on the box, 'two teaspoons every six hours', and you are going to take _two_ teaspoons of this stuff. Open." 

Blair grumbled, but opened his mouth and Jim gleefully tipped in the medicine. He _knew_ it had to taste terrible - it _smelled_ terrible - but the pharmacist had assured him that it should cut through even the worst cough. Neither of them had been sleeping over the past couple of days because of Blair's cough, and he wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. 

The doctor had told them just what Blair had predicted - it was a cold, and they'd just have to let it run its course. It sounded worse than it was, but it was just because he'd never been around a sick Blair before - his Guide was _very_ healthy, and it was only when the virus went into its third month at the University that he'd finally succumbed. 

"Here, I'll get you some juice." 

"Ub, maig it ginger ale, okay? _Dat_ taste wid juice would be tewible." 

"Okay, ginger ale it is." He went into the kitchen and opened up the fridge, pulling out one of the bottles of ginger ale inside. "I also brought dinner, and I think you're going to enjoy it." 

"I hobe so," Blair said, taking the glass from him. "I habed been able to taste since yesteday." 

"I know, so I went to the deli and got us some soup for dinner." Jim put the plastic containers into the microwave and pulled out bowls and tv trays. "Guaranteed to cure what ails you." 

"I hobe id's nod chigen," Blair said, with a warning tone. "Ady bore chigen, and I'll turn _indo_ a chigen." 

"It isn't chicken. I got two kinds - beef vegetable for me, and for you - " Jim took the steamy containers out of the microwave with a flourish " - vegetarian chili, with _extra_ chilis. It'll either _burn_ the cold out of you, or it will blow the top of your head off." 

"Eider wod ob which would be a _bajor_ ibprobe-bed." 

"Right." Jim shook his head. /Any more time with him sick, and _I'll_ be talking like hib - erm, _him_ , too./ "Let's just hope the _improvement_ is in getting you well." 

"Yub. Sabe de blowing obb ob by head for _you_ ," Blair grinned. 

"I'm flattered, Blair." Jim set the chili in front of him on his tray, and squooshed him over on the couch so he could enjoy _his_ soup. 

They ate for a while in silence, and then Blair put down his spoon. "Dab." 

"What?" 

"I cad _taste_ id." 

"You can't?" 

Blair shook his head. "It _feels_ hot, but I cad taste id." He looked down at his bowl with sorrow. "Stupid code." 

"It _is_ a stupid cold, Blair," Jim said, soothingly, "but soon you'll be over it, and then you'll be able to taste again." 

"I hobe so." 

"Keep eating. Maybe it will loosen some of the phlegm." 

Blair nodded and continued to eat. Jim could tell that it was hot because it made Blair's eyes water and his nose run even _more_ than the cold did. When he was almost finished, but not quite, he put the spoon down again. 

"Full?" 

Blair nodded. "It seebs like a waste to ead id whed I cad taste id." 

"You need to eat, Blair." 

"Baybe - " Blair started, then shook his head. "Doh." 

"What?" 

"I couldn't - 

" _Blair_." 

"Well - baybe _you_ could habe sobe? Tell me whad id tastes like?" 

Jim looked at him doubtfully. He'd saved the super-hot and spicy soup for Blair, both because it would help cleanse his body out, and because the hot stuff was generally _too_ hot for sensitive Sentinel senses. "Uh, Blair - " 

"I doh, I doh - bad idea." He sighed, and blew his nose again. "I _feel_ bedder." 

"You sound a little better, too." 

Blair nodded, and rested back against the couch. 

"You know - I bet a _little_ bit of soup wouldn't hurt me," Jim said, looking at him. All in all, having a sick roommate/Guide/lover hadn't been _so_ bad - he was pretty low-maintenance - at least when Jim considered _himself_ sick - and it gave Jim the chance to be nurturing, for a change. 

"Id's nod so hod, dow," Blair said. 

Jim took a little bit of soup on his spoon and tentatively took a taste. The microwave-heat _had_ cooled off, a little. "Mmm. Pretty good. Very tomato-y. Nice basil, too - fresh, not the dried stuff." He dipped his spoon in for a larger portion. 

"I would'd habe _too_ mugch, Jib," Blair warned. 

"Mushrooms, zucchini, chick peas _and_ kidney beans, I like that. Mmm." Jim was zoning on the taste of the soup. "I can really taste the chili powder, too - there's a hint of cayenne underneath, I think - and some paprika, too, if I'm not mistaken." He dipped his spoon in again. 

Up to this point he'd been carefully avoiding anything that might trigger an attack of hyperactivity in his taste buds, but this time he missed the teeny bit of green that signalled danger, and it wasn't until he licked the spoon that the flavour rush kicked in in his mouth. 

"Uh-oh." 

It was fire, heat, _pain_. It felt as though every nerve ending on his tongue was   
simultaneously bursting into flame, little flickers of new-struck heat wending their way down his tongue, past his throat, all the way down inside of him, into the pit of his stomach. He could _feel_ the path of pain and was helplessly surrendering to it. He was totally unaware of Blair beside him, tugging on his arm. 

"Jib! Jib! Tag to be! Hell!" Helpless, Blair got up off the couch and headed for the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with cool water and grabbing a couple of pieces of bread. He went to the couch and tugged on Jim's arm again. "Lissed to be, Jib - drig dis wader." He pushed the glass on Jim, but received no signal that Jim even heard him. 

Frustrated, he pushed the tv trays away and climbed up on Jim's lap, trying to physically open his mouth and pour the water in. He succeeded in getting only a little bit of it _in_ the Sentinel's mouth, while most of it drenched his shirt. "Jib - lissen to be, you're zodig od the heed, you'b god to snab oud of id. Lissen, Jib - _please_." He continued to repeat Jim's name - or as close as he could get to 'Jim', anyway, with his stuffed nose - over and over, until the Sentinel seemed to be coming around from the zone-out. 

"Blair?" 

" _Jib!_ " Blair hugged him. 

"Why is my shirt all wet?" 

"Because you zode oud, you idiod." 

"I did? On the soup?" 

"I tode you dod to ead so buch." 

"Well, it was good. Besides, you're the one who wanted me to eat it in the first place." 

"Yeah, well - " Blair slid over, off of his lap. "Ead dis bread." 

"Thanks." Jim chewed on some of the bread, and Blair got him another glass of water. "How long was I out?" 

"Odly a few binutes," Blair said, and blew his nose again, long and hard. "I think by dose is clearing up." 

"You sound a _lot_ better now," Jim agreed. "Man, I'm sweating. Or maybe it's just the water all over my shirt." 

"You should take it off, baybe." 

"Okay, sweetie." 

Blair threw a pillow at him. "Remide me to make fun of _you_ when you're sig." 

"Sorry, Blair." Jim leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Well, that was an eventful evening. I'm ready for bed." 

"Awready? Dere's a good prograb od - " Blair stopped talking when he saw the look in Jim's eyes \- half playfully smiling, half smouldering. " _Oooh_." 

"You're pretty quick, for a sick guy." 

"And you're preddy horny, considering whad _I_ bust look like." 

"You look gorgeous, Blair. A little cold couldn't possibly change that." He picked up the teddy bear from where it had tumbled to the floor in the excitement. "How about we take Teddy here and tuck him in and you in and I'll tell the two of you a bedtime story?" 

"A _naughdy_ bedtime story?" Blair asked, getting up off the couch and putting his arm around Jim's waist. 

"Well make it as naughty as you want it, Blair," Jim grinned. 

" _Very_ naughdy." 

"Okay." 

They made their way up the stairs, the three of them, and Jim started, "Once upon a time, there were three bears - a mommy bear, a daddy bear, and a little baby Blair-bear." 

"Hey!" Blair said, punching Jim on the arm. "I'b _nod_ _liddle_!" 

"I never said _you_ were. This is _my_ story," Jim said, rubbing his arm. "Now where was I? Oh yes - the little baby Blair-bear was very, very sick one day, and his parents left him home alone while they went to get the doctor. All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door. Blair-bear opened it, and found a big, bad, horny Jimberwolf there, dressed in doctor's clothes." 

"Oooh, scary," Blair said, and climbed into bed. 

"Wait till you hear what he _did_ to the little Blair-bear," Jim agreed, pulling off his wet shirt and kicking off his shoes. "In fact, I think it just might have too much adult content for a sweet bedtime story. Maybe I'd better tell another." 

Blair grabbed him and pulled him down on the bed, and straddled him. " _I_ thig you'd bedder finish id, Jib." 

"Or what?" 

"Or _I'll_ habe to tell _you_ ode - about a naughdy Sendinel, and his mean, mean Guide." 

"Sounds scary." 

"Id is," Blair nodded. "Especially when I ged to the 'no sex' part." 

"No sex?" 

"None." 

"Maybe I'll just finish _my_ story, then." 

"Good idea." 

"Where was I?" 

"Blair-bear was about to meed up wid the big, horny doctor-Jimberwolf. . ." 

"Oh, yes." Jim tucked the Teddy into bed, his face down against the pillow. "I'm afraid you'd better not watch this part, Teddy," he whispered. "Not until you're older." 

The End  
MonaR.  
monaram@iname.com/monaram@mailcity.com 


End file.
